Five Miles From the Truck, With a Limit of Walleyes — and a Problem

Finishing a limit of walleyes just as the sun sets is good. A treble hook buried in your thumb five miles from the truck? Not so much.

Five miles from the truck, after dark, with a limit of walleyes — and a treble hook I didn’t plan on bringing home. | Joe Shead

I throttled my snowmobile down a packed, sometimes hilly trail. There are not many slam-dunk walleye spots I know of, but my plan was to make a 5-mile ride to a little isolated rock reef on an overlooked lake in northern Minnesota.

A Perfect Evening on a Secluded Hot Spot

I reached the spot about 3 p.m. and Swiss-cheesed the structure with holes. At 3:15 a bright red mark appeared on my Vexilar just below my spoon, and seconds later, I felt a heavy thump. Soon, the night’s first walleye was on the ice.

The first walleye of the evening was dark colored and a perfect eater. It was to be the first of many for the night. | Joe Shead

It was 45 minutes before I marked another. After 4:00, however, those red marks were a frequent sight on my screen. These fish clearly hadn’t seen much fishing pressure and bit aggressively.

As darkness descended, the bite slowed. I’d caught several fish, released the smaller ones, and was now just one fish short of a limit. It just felt wrong to leave without that last fish, but I had to work for it. I started to panic as it looked like I might not get it, but I finally found a willing customer and rounded out my limit.

Organization isn’t my strong suit, and I now had to pack up my gear in the dark. I started the snowmobile. It would be plenty warm by the time my gear was arranged. With some maneuvering, I got everything in the sled. Then I had to cover the sled to keep the snow out and to keep gear from falling out. The elastic is shot on this cover, so I have to put the cover in place, with a pair of ratchet straps, which is a little tricky by yourself.

One Last Flag

Just before I motored away, I saw my tip-up flag glowing in the headlight. I’d nearly forgotten it! Despite the hot jigging action, I hadn’t gotten a flag all day. I picked up the tip-up, then decided to sneak it into the sled without lifting the cover.

I pried up a corner of canvas and gave the tip-up a shove. It fell into the sled … but unfortunately, the little treble hook stayed behind, embedded in my thumb!

As an accident-prone human who has fished for 35 years, it is almost unbelievable that I have never been hooked before. The tip-up was inside the sled and my hand was outside. The first thing I needed to do was disconnect myself.

Five Miles to Go

With my left hand, I awkwardly reached into my right pocket to retrieve my knife and cut myself free of the tip-up. In the snowmobile's headlight I examined my thumb. Only one hook was in me, but it was buried beyond the barb. I didn’t have pliers.

Somehow, the hook wasn’t painful. I decided to ride back to the truck. However, if you’ve ever run the throttle on a snowmobile, you know your thumb gets cold, even with a thumb warmer. Putting on a mitten wasn’t an option. I’d simply have to tough it out. It was 15 degrees.

I rode a ways, then stopped to blow warm breath on my frozen finger. Then I tucked my hand against my coat for warmth and drove with my left hand on the throttle. It worked, but I couldn’t go very fast.

My disastrous ice fishing trip resulted in a limit of walleyes, so I was satisfied, despite hooking myself in the thumb. | Joe Shead

That’s how I went, alternately blowing on my thumb and using it to run the throttle. I just needed to take is slow and avoid the bumps.

Finally, I was back to the truck. I started the truck and cranked up the heater. While I waited for it to warm, I unhooked the sled, trailered the snowmobile and put my gear away.

Then it was time to get down to business!

In the light of the cab, I took a better look. I worked the hook around to get an idea of the angle it had taken when it pierced my thumb. When I pushed it here, it pricked. When I pushed it the other way, the same. But in the middle, it was painless. I wiggled it around, just sort of feeling it out. I wanted to know the exact angle to take with my big, impending yank. But as I wiggled the thin-wire No. 12 treble, a chunk of skin actually pulled free, and seconds later, the hook simply slid out! What a relief!

I wish I could say I’ll be sure to have pliers with me from now on. Or that I’ll be more careful or more organized. But if you know me, you know how that’s likely to work out. The way I see it, I got a limit of walleyes and a great story…and that’s not bad. I just hope it leaves a scar so I’ll always have a war story to tell.